


Erogatio

by misspamela



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Rome
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Antony have sex. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erogatio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melina123 (Melina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melina/gifts).



> Story notes: Written for melina, because she is awesome. Huge thanks go to kageygirl and basingstoke for betaing, and thanks to astolat for saying, "Hmm. Needs more sex."
> 
> You don't need to know anything about _Rome_ to read this story, as it takes place pre-canon. All you need to know is that Mark Antony is sex on a stick and he looks [like](http://www.bbc.co.uk/drama/faces/images/james_purefoy_large.jpg) [this](http://www.hbo.com/rome/img/episode/ep06/ep06_2.jpg).

“Sir.” A legionary appeared at the entrance of the tent and saluted. “There is a stranger in the camp.’

Antony closed his eyes in impatience and opened them again. There was nothing worse in this world than bored soldiers. Sitting in this damned field and waiting for a communiqué from Rome had gotten tedious several days ago. He scratched the back of his neck, digging the sweat and grit into his skin. He needed a bath. “I suppose,” he said, not bothering to rise from his desk, “that we have no protocol for strangers in the camp? No precedent? There’s so _little_ to do that you need to bother _me_ with this intruder?”

The legionary looked suitably nervous. “No, of course not, sir. It’s just that...well, he’s foreign, sir. A most odd man.”

“Odd, is he?” Antony sat up a little straighter and quirked an eyebrow. _Fool,_ he chastised himself. _You’re nothing more than a bored soldier yourself._ “Well, send him in. I suppose you’ve taken the initiative to disarm him?”

“He wasn’t armed, sir.” The legionary shifted from one foot to another, kicking up dirt with his sandals. Sloppy. 

“An odd man, indeed.” But a wise one. An unarmed man in a military camp was strange enough to warrant this very reaction. An armed man would not have survived long enough to reach past the first guards. Antony found himself growing curious about this foreign stranger. “Send him in.”

Departing in a swirl of dust and salutes, the legionary hollered something Antony couldn’t quite make out. The tent opened and a man walked in, escorted by two soldiers. 

Well. Antony wasn’t sure what he was expecting; a barbarian, perhaps, or a vicious Gaul. This man was wearing a fine tunic of some bright, expensive material and one wrist cuff made of leather, like a soldier. He had pale skin, untouched by the sun, and soft hands, like a man of leisure, but he also had the hard, trained body of a soldier. Interesting. Between his well-formed body and his striking, exotic blue eyes, he looked like a pleasure slave in some wealthy domina’s employ.

“State your name,” Antony ordered, his bored tone giving nothing away. He tapped his finger on his desk impatiently.

“Captain Jack Harkness, sir.” The man smiled at him, slow and sensual. Antony felt his body growing interested. Perhaps he _was_ a pleasure slave. That would certainly be a diversion. “It’s an honor.”

“I do not know your name; it is not Roman.” Antony rose and walked around the desk. Tilting the stranger’s chin up, he growled softly, “If you are here to spy, you will be dead before you can draw the breath to deceive me.”  
“I’m not a spy.” Jack -- what a strange name -- blushed, the color spilling over his chest like a woman’s. “I’m a merchant, a fabric merchant. From Byzantium.” He smiled again, a smile that evoked long, leisurely fucks and dirty whispers. “I was curious to meet the famous General Antony.” Holding Antony’s gaze for longer than was polite, Jack made it quite clear what kind of curiosity drove him to Antony’s camp.

Coughing to catch his attention, the centurion by the door said, “He could be dangerous, sir.”

“Mmmm, yes.” Antony let his finger drop from the man’s chin and trail down his throat. “Quite dangerous.” So he was either a very foolish spy, spying on the most uneventful mission of Antony’s career; an unarmed assassin; or truly a bored Byzantine merchant with an inclination toward Greek pleasures. 

Given the heat in his eyes, Antony would have to assume that the last was the most accurate. The gods had sent him amusement on this weary day. “You are dismissed,” Antony called to the centurion. “Send a slave for my bath. This...merchant shall keep me company.”

“Very good, sir.” Antony heard, rather than saw, the centurion leave. He couldn’t take his eyes off Jack. 

Jack smiled. “It’s nice to see that the Roman reputation for hospitality is so well-deserved.”

“We do like to observe the basic civilities, yes.” Antony picked up a jug from his desk. “Wine?” 

Grinning, Jack spread his arms. The movement accented the strong curve of his shoulders. “I’d love some.”

Antony smiled to himself as he poured. It had been a long time since he’d indulged in a male companion. His slaves were built for work, not pleasure, and there were always so many willing women available. But men...Antony imagined the equal match of strength for strength, desire for desire, and he nearly growled out loud. 

“So, General Antony,” Jack said, sitting on a nearby chair, “are all the nearby towns as boring as Anchialus?”

Antony laughed deep from his gut. The towns were, in fact, no more than a few huts and fewer goats. If Anchialus had been Jack’s sole source of diversion, it was little wonder he came looking for excitement. And yet...

“Jack.” Antony stared straight into his eyes. “You are not being completely honest with me. I tolerate it because you interest me. Now, why are you here?”

To his credit, Jack didn’t back down or quail under his gaze. Not changing his jovial expression, other than shifting his eyes to meet Antony’s, Jack raised one eyebrow. “It was a bet,” he said, laughing at himself. “I was in the area with a friend; we’re kind of stuck here while he takes care of some business. Anyway, we got to talking and he said you’d be so up to your neck in lovelies that you’d never look at a man. Even one with an ass as perfect as mine.”

“It sounds to me like your friend doesn’t have the proper appreciation for a perfect arse.” Antony rose and walked around the desk.

Grinning, Jack quirked an eyebrow at Antony. “I’ve been saying that to him for ages.”

Several slaves entered, carrying a tub of water large enough for a full bath, not the smaller tub used for quick cleaning. Another slave trailed behind them, carrying fresh clothing and Antony’s razor. Gesturing for them to leave, Antony unlaced his sandals and let his tunic drop to the floor. “Wash me?”

Jack laid a hand on Antony’s shoulder. “I’m not a slave,” he warned, staring hard. Trader he may be, this Jack was also a dangerous man. Good. Antony liked dangerous men. 

“By Venus’ tit, Jack. Don’t lovers bathe each other in Byzantium?” Antony lowered himself into the bath. “Or would you just rather watch?”

“Mmmm.” Antony could hear Jack moving into place behind his head. “Both of those sound pretty good, but I’m a hands-on kind of guy.” 

Surprisingly, Jack started with a good, professional scrub all over Antony’s body, working into Antony’s camp-weary skin with olive oil and salt. Antony hummed softly to himself, enjoying the feel of the dirt sluicing off of him. He relaxed further, leaning his head against Jack’s knee.

At some point, once Antony felt fully clean and invigorated, the cadence of Jack’s hands changed, softened. His hands began to explore the planes of Antony’s back, the muscles of his abdomen, the hollows of his knees. Nothing about his touch was overtly erotic, but Antony found himself growing hard and leaning into Jack’s hands, his skin tingling, looking for an end to this damned teasing.

But there was to be no end. There were only hands, hands slick with oil, hands kneading and pressing Antony’s muscles. Antony realized he was panting harshly in the quiet of the tent. His cock ached and pulsed, tantalized by the warm water swirling around him and the incessant presence of those too-practiced hands. Antony clenched his fists, determined not to give in and beg, not to some foreign trader. His thighs trembled with the effort of not thrusting into the water. It would only bring him more agony, not relief. 

Jack’s hands changed direction yet again; he began stroking downward from Antony’s shoulders; short, hard strokes that electrified Antony’s skin and amplified the slow burn churning in his gut. Moving from Antony’s shoulders to his back to his belly to his legs, harder, faster. Antony’s cock jerked in time to the rhythm of the strokes. He could feel the buildup of sensation, the preliminary tingle in his balls, the tightening in his chest...Antony grabbed blindly at the sides of the tub, willing himself not to come from a massage alone. But Jack sensed his distress and, with truly exceptional timing, gripped Antony’s cock with just the right amount of pressure and _stroked_ , using the exact same short, hard motion as he’d used on Antony’s body, and Antony was lost, heaving and shouting as the world tilted and turned, spilling his seed into the churning water. 

As soon as he was able, Antony leapt out of the tub, turning to face Jack. Standing nearly at attention, panting softly, Jack had managed to remove his tunic. His cock was hard and leaking, his stomach muscles fluttering. Antony smiled. “You have some interesting tricks, stranger.” 

“You have no idea,” Jack replied, slightly out of breath. To Antony’s delight, Jack’s legs were trembling; the memory of that very sensation sent an aftershock of pleasure down Antony’s spine. He pressed against the length of Jack’s body, feeling the desperate jerk of Jack’s cock against his stomach. 

“And I,” Antony murmured, “have many tricks of my own.” He wrapped his hands around Jack’s wrists and pinned them to his hips. “Don’t move.” 

Antony moved against Jack, his body still slick with olive oil. Jack groaned and pushed helplessly into Antony’s abdomen, sliding across his skin, hot and desparate. Standing firm, Antony shifted to one side to allow Jack’s cock to slip into the hollow of his hip. Jerking his pelvis forward, Antony raked the hot length of it with his hipbone. Jack moaned and thrust into him, again and again, shaking, shattering under Antony’s grasp. 

When the storm calmed, Antony let Jack go, gesturing to a waiting slave for a cloth. Jack cleaned himself, tossed the cloth back to the slave, and grasped Antony’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, kissing Antony’s cheeks. 

Antony tensed. “Why?”

“Because I have to leave tonight.” Jack slid his thumbs down Antony’s jaw and winked.

“Well, in that case, you must stay for dinner.” Antony snapped his fingers at the nearest slave. “Bring something better than our standard rations, Listero.” 

They dressed, then dined on figs, nuts, small pieces of charred lamb, and olives. Listero also found Antony’s favorite honey wine, which he poured liberally for Jack. Antony crunched a walnut between his teeth and took a long, slow swallow of wine. The sweet burn in his stomach reminded him of an even more pleasant burn, and the heat of Jack’s gaze across the table told him that there might be more pleasure to come. 

“When did you say you had to leave?” Antony traced the rim of his goblet slowly, raised his hand, brought his finger to his mouth, and sucked the wine off his skin.

“Soon.” Jack smiled around the edge of his own goblet. “Nice trinket,” he added, nodding at the queer gold coin Antony had picked up last month on the road from Thracia. 

“It’s worthless.” Antony flicked it at Jack. “Not even real Roman gold. Keep it, if you’d like. As a token of my esteem.” Smiling, Antony took another sip of wine.

“Really?” Jack tucked the coin in a fold of his tunic. Taking Antony’s wine glass, he set it down on the table. “And how high is your esteem?”

So it seemed the evening’s amusements were not over. Antony rose and pulled Jack to his pallet in the corner. “I suppose you have some more Byzantine tricks to show me?”

“I might have a few.” Jack wrapped his arms around Antony’s waist and dropped to his knees. Antony closed his eyes and let his head drop back. He felt the hem of his tunic lift. The moment Jack’s lips touched his belly, Antony shivered. Jack kissed down the vee of his stomach, gently nipping Antony’s sensitive skin. “I can...broaden your horizons.”

Antony lifted his head and dropped his hand to rest on Jack’s shoulder. “I will not be buggered,” he warned. “Attempt it and you will not like the result.”

“Romans,” Jack murmured from somewhere near Antony’s left thigh. “You’re so limited.” He rose up and yanked Antony onto the pallet, scattering silk pillows to the floor. “I myself have no problems with buggery.”

“Foreigners.” Not for the first time, Antony appreciated their dissolute ways. “Listero, the oil.” He ran one hand down Jack’s side and pushed, trying to roll him over. 

Jack grabbed his wrist. “No, no. We do it my way.” Easing up on one elbow, he took the oil from Listero and rubbed it on Antony’s rapidly hardening cock. Antony gasped and arched into his touch, thrusting into Jack’s hand. 

“Very well,” Antony muttered, and tried to roll Jack over again, but Jack fought back, slipping out from underneath him. Antony tried to get a wrestler’s hold on Jack’s waist, feeling the muscles of Jack’s stomach slide past his fingers, trying not to get distracted by the feeling of skin against skin. Shoving Antony with his shoulder, Jack knocked him onto his back. 

Jack straddled Antony’s hips. “Sssh. Do you trust me?”

“What a foolish question.” Antony gripped Jack’s thighs and tried not to thrust between them. “Of course I don’t trust you.”

Jack laughed. “Fair enough.” He reached down and took Antony’s cock in his hand. “But I do know what I’m doing.” With a slight frown, as if he were concentrating, Jack canted his hips forward, moved, and-- _oh_.

Somehow, Jack was moving over, onto, _around_ Antony’s cock, impaling himself slowly, sinking downward. Antony sucked in deep breath and moved his hips, but he was pinned down by Jack’s weight, immobile, helpless. He opened his mouth to protest, but what was there to say? He wasn’t being unmanned, just...possessed. Taken. 

Antony shuddered. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the familiar feeling of his cock sunk into warm, welcoming flesh, and the unfamiliar feeling of delicious helplessness. That state was enough of a novelty to be erotic in its own right; Antony imagined himself in the place of the women he’d bedded and gasped, thrusting upward. Jack gasped as well, and that’s when Antony noticed that Jack was hard, very hard, his cock straining forward from between their two bodies. It was truly amazing that Jack could become aroused this way! Antony tried another thrust and Jack moaned again. 

So Antony had more control than he’d realized. Interesting. 

Bracing both hands on Jack’s thighs, Antony let his hips rise and buck, nearly knocking Jack off the pallet; but Jack was a strong man, and he fought back, bearing down, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, but unerring in his balance and rhythm. Antony felt his legs begin to shake, his skin on fire, his vision blurring, as he slammed into Jack again and again. Then, just when he was sure he could take no more, Jack gave a shout and spasmed, hot liquid splashing on their bellies. The realization that Jack had achieved his release with no touch other than Antony’s cock inside him was too much for Antony, and he too barreled toward his own release, scrabbling his hands against Jack’s ribs, thrusting harder and harder, until the white oblivion overtook him.

Antony managed to pull himself out of Jack and roll over before falling blissfully, completely asleep. He only awoke once, when Jack murmured goodbyes he didn’t understand, then Antony slipped away again, prisoner of the ghosts and gods of his dreams. 

 

......................

“Mission accomplished!” Jack flipped the small gold coin across the TARDIS console to the Doctor. “I scanned it. The alloy is exactly what you’re looking for.”

“Smashing.” The Doctor slipped the coin into a slot that seemed to appear on the side of the console. “And the famous Mark Antony?”

“To use your words,” Jack drawled, winking at Rose, “smashing.”

“Honestly, Jack, did you have to seduce him? Stealing from him wasn’t enough?” Rose crossed her arms and failed to look stern. 

“Are you kidding? The seduction was a...” Jack waved his hand in the air, looking for the right word. “It was a perk. A service provided by yours truly--“

“Spare me,” the Doctor muttered, rolling his eyes.

“ _And_ ,” Jack added, pointing at Rose, “I didn’t have to steal it, Miss High Horse. Antony gave it to me.” 

“So he paid you for...” Rose raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the Doctor sing-songed from underneath the console.

“I did not _sell myself_ for one measly gold coin!” Jack crossed his arms. “Frankly, I’m insulted. If I'd sold myself, I'd have come back with a string of elephants.”

“He paid you.” Tweaking Jack’s arse, Rose giggled. “And you were cheap.”

“I, oh, _you!_ ” Jack chased her around the TARDIS, ignoring the Doctor’s indignant “Oi! Watch the hardware.” 

He didn’t catch her until they landed on Orion Beta Five, and by then she almost believed him. Almost.


End file.
